[BCOLOR=transparent]You awake on a hard, metal table, numerous metal limbs hang above you each tipped with some sort of tool. A buzz saw, a scalpel, a screwdriver, forceps and various other hardware and medical tools half snap you out of your daze as you realize the pulsing pain somewhere on your body, you look to the end of the table to see a mirror that reveals the source of the pain closed with somewhat mechanical stitches, as though a robot applied them. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] You look to your left to see a large window and, on the other side, a man lifting another man off a table not unlike the one you lay upon. You can not make out any features of either man. Between you and the window, and behind and in front of you, are numerous other metal tables with bodies on them, some of them twitch with an afterthought of life, some are in the same dazed disposition as you, many are dead, more are disfigured and look as though they were pried open by the metal arms before they broke down or went haywire. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] After the man on the other side of the window flings the other man's arm around his shoulder he looks to you, well, past you. He shuffles over to the glass barrier and begins pounding furiously, screaming as loud as he can. The words, disrupted by the glass and by your own post surgical haze, still reach your ears.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] “Doc! The doors only open from the inside, meet me at the checkpoint in three days and for god’s sake put a bullet in that assholes brain!”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] You look to your right to see, presumably, Doc, who has pushed himself up off his table and is now standing shakily. He is a young man with thick, round glasses and messy , light brown hair. As the man on the other side of the window escapes his room a loud siren begins to blare and lights begin to flash unrelentingly from the corners of the room, this jolts you awake. Outside of the room you hear the clinking of metal limbs approaching, they sound as if there are several of them and they are well armed.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Any clothes or gear you had with you is on a nearby rolling table that is usually reserved for surgical tools, but currently you are only dressed in a medical gown. Doc has already taken cover and aimed a small pistol for the door.[/BCOLOR]

Katelyn opened her eyes, the first thing on her mind being her massive headache, especially at the nape of her neck. The second, where she was. She knew by looking around that she wasn't at home, wherever that was, and as she pressed her hands against the cool metal table she pushed herself up and groaned slightly, one hand reaching for the headache's source. It stopped on a bump, her fingers sliding against a long, narrow line of poorly-done stitches. Suddenly she heard the commotion, and turned her head, with a sharp, painful jerk, and watched the scene unfold before her. She could hear the metal limbs getting closer, and the adrenaline in her body pulsed through her veins.

This is one trippy dream, she thought to herself, attempting to climb down from the medical table and pawing for her clothes: sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt and a pull-over sweater. The anesthesia had not quite left her body, and she fumbled with putting her clothes back on, struggling to stay awake. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she grabbed the one weapon laying on the table next to her clothes. It was a bat with several nails poking out of the top. She gripped it in one hand, the other outstretched in front of her, and make a break for the door.

As her increasingly coherent thoughts swelled with disappointment, Johanna's eyelids peeled back, the whites of her eyes blood shot and glossed over, though she was alert now. And staring at a dilapidated ceiling that bore no revelations except --

I am. Damn it.

Almost immediately, she was flooded with questions not pertaining to her apparent lack of appreciation for life -- where am I, why am I, when did I. Air caressed her body where it shouldn't if she were fully clothed -- Anna ran her right hand down her torso, feeling a thin fabric that cut off at her thighs. Hospital gown? Though her slender body groaned in protest, the woman rose up with her core, lifting both hands to cradle her heavy head. She noticed that her left shoulder disc had a hard time rotating, but assumed it had to have been from however much time she'd laid there dormant. She moved her left arm back to rotate the shoulder -- it felt so heavy, but then again, it was her bad shoulder, something she'd broken twice in her life and it never really recovered. Only when she used her other hand, seemingly void of the same ailments, to further press her shoulder back, did Anna gasp and abruptly drop her wide gaze to meet a hunk of metal, carved to resemble a human limb. Expressionless, she brought her palm before her face, and just stared at it, disliking the slight strain following with every small movement.

Johanna's time to observe was cut short as blaring sirens sounded off, the sound causing her heart to jump and with it, her legs swung over the bed and she was on her feet, which were bare but too cold to react to how cold the floor was. The push off the table seemed to send an ache in the muscles surrounding her arm into over drive. Any anesthetic used would have worn off as soon as it'd been given -- she had an incredible (and often unfortunate) resistance to drugs. "Shitshitshit," She pressed a hand to her parched throat -- it hurt.

The tray beside her held personal belongings she quickly recognized -- unable to really lift her left arm, she struggled to secure a strap around her bicep, which had a few charged rounds for her plasma gun though several sockets were empty. She couldn't recall how she'd have gone anywhere unprepared, so why was she so low on ammunition? She stocked up the stuff for a living! Her eyes flickered to the doors that prevented her from seeing what closed in behind them -- and there were other stretchers, and bodies, and some man quivering from an obscure corner, which she pointed her gun at, then lowered -- and then a female that was on her feet in response to the nearing somethings outside, Sabel aimed the gun at her too, dropping it shortly after.

"Are those.. Bots?" With disbelief, she looked at her gun -- which threatened to be completely useless against what was coming. "I couldn't have just died," Was her follow up remark, before her body disappeared, legs tucked in, back pressed against the wall, lips pressed thin as she considered an alternative.

He sat for a moment with his eyes closed as he regained consciousness. At first, he thought this was a bad dream. It all matched up. A loud alarm blaring through the building, panicked voices surrounding him, metal feet approaching quickly, etc. But, as he came to quickly realize, a massive migraine was tearing his head apart and his chest ached. This was no dream. As he came to that realization, he sat up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror at the foot of the table. 'Medical gown? What the hell?'

Giving the room a quick scan, he saw many people sharing this situation. Many bodies littered the tables in the room. Some were dead, some were deformed horribly, and some had already stood up and were preparing to fight something. He could see people with guns and melee weapons standing near the door. He could also see his own weapons and clothing on a roll cart a few feet from him.

Finally, he forced himself to stand and join those already guarding the door. He didn't bother to dress himself because there just wasn't enough time. He quickly grabbed his institute rifle from the table, loaded it with his plasma rounds, and took up a post outside of the door. Whatever was coming had better be prepared, because there was going to be no mercy.

There was a moment of serenity when Tess' eyelids first drew back, her dark eyes absent as they pinned themselves to the ceiling and idly traced along its faint irregularities. They stretched out along the ceiling, some of them branching outward and mimicked the intricacy of veins while others jutted across its surface with -- wait.No. A distant unease half revived her mind from its comatose state. Brows pinched, she blinked. Not my ceiling.

She found herself splayed out on a cool, metal table like a cadaver. For all she knew, which was little at this point, maybe it had been intended for her to become one. She turned her face to the right, where surgical tools lied in a neat line on a cloth-covered rolling table: scalpel, forceps, buzz saw, screwdriver, all in almost pristine condition. A rusted color coated their exteriors, faded but still distinguishable. It was a familiar hue. Seen on many expeditions she'd go on with her brother, it mirrored the color of a hastily wiped knife after it'd tasted blood, and the realization was enough to send Tess hurrying to prop herself up on her elbows, but in the midst of her panic-induced scurrying, pain washed over her right forearm. Teeth gritted, a hiss slipped from Tess' mouth. She lifted the offending arm without gentleness, inspecting it to find the pain's source. It didn't take long. Spanning the entire circumference of her wrist were Frankenstein-esque stitches, too precise and clean to be done by the hands of a human. At the end of her wrist, her hand hung almost limply -- still, she couldn't help but feel glad she still had it. She managed to pull herself up enough to sit and brought her other hand up to prod her drooping one, cautious not to wiggle her wrist. Numb. She tried clenching, and was met only with a couple fingers curling and a flash of pain. Her expression turned sour. Smart.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she lifted her eyes; bodies were strewn on metal tables around her, the majority of them lifeless, while some still jerked around on the brink of death, others were mangled beyond human recognition, and a few were still alive. Only a few. What is this place? Her gut twisted, and she turned away her gaze just in time for a siren to blare. Jolting off the table far too fast for her wrist, she sucked in a sharp inhale, her eyes scouring the area for something -- anything -- to arm herself with. Gotta get outta here, gotta get outta here.

Much to her avail, Tess was quick to spot her equipment set on a nearby rolling table and was even quicker to dart toward it, her regular hand fumbling through the pile to latch onto her laser rifle. Something was missing. She sifted through her things again, but it was gone -- the pre-war pearl necklace she snagged on her latest expedition. "No," she breathed. Tess had hoped to sell it off to some nostalgic ghoul, earn more than a few caps for the brother-sister duo, but with it disappeared, she felt dread clench her chest. Daniel's gonna lose his head when I get out of here. The clinking of metal limbs sounded from beyond the door, and, with a deep breath, Tess sprinted to take cover by the doctor's side. Her right hand clumsily found a grip on her gun, her still somewhat numb index finger poised on the trigger. If I get out of here.

"I couldn't have just died," came a voice from against the wall.

"Oh, don't worry," Tess replied, stealing a glance at the woman. "Might just get our chance."

Doc held his gun towards the door, his hands shaking violently. More people were getting up, one of them pointed a gun at him for a moment. He was scared. He wasn't the one to hold guns, he wasn't the one to shoot or fight, he was too young for this! As crazy as it was, he found himself wishing the man who had got him into this mess were- how.

Doc first saw it from the corner of his eye, the man, the stranger, the bounty hunter. He was old, maybe 50, maybe it was just the stress of living in the wastes, loners seemed to age twice as fast. Everyone else in the room had shown some sign of surgery, lingering anesthesia, pain, stitches, a removed limb replace with a metal one, but not the man. The bounty hunter rose from his table quickly, from the back he might have looked young if it weren't for his dry skin and numerous scars. His hair was black and short, almost shaved, but it still managed to be messy. The hunters eyes darted around the room, cold eyes accompanied by large bags and a harsh frown. It took a moment before he actually spoke.

"Shhhit."

Immediately he burst into action grabbing from the table near him a large revolver with a long barrel and what appeared to be a lunch box with a timer strapped to it. He ran towards the door, the sound of caps shaking inside the lunch box barely sounding over the imminent robots. He knelt down just short of the door before placing the lunch box carefully and sprinting to the center of the room. The robots were just outside the door now. The man spun around the room, frantically searching each corner as he mumbled to himself.

"Enclave, It had to be fffucking Enclave... There!"

He stopped spinning and aimed his pistol, firing it just as the door began to slide upwards. The bullet hit its mark and the lights went out, the door stopped a foot off the ground, and the sound of confused beeping radiated into their room. light only emitted now from the windowed room next to them, and from underneath the door.

"Do not move." He said. "Keep aiming at that door."

Silence. Crushing silence. Then a loud bang and the screeching of metal. Another bang and sparks flew from the door.

"Hold fire." The man said, sure of himself.

One last smack and the door flew off.

"FIRE!"

Flashes of light filled the room as people unloaded their weapons or even simply threw what they could find at the robots that swarmed in through the door. They were mostly brain bots, but the occasional Mr.Gutsy also pushed his way into the room, only to be riddled with bullets, plasma, and lasers. A few minutes of this passed until the robots ceased, and as they did, so did the firing.

Johanna personally had no quarrel with someone taking charge -- she'd never liked responsibility, and was more than willing to pass that onto someone who proved smart by the way the bots went down, one by one, with the combined adrenaline of strangers scared for their lives. Well, she imagined they were -- Anna herself wasn't on the field often, and while her shot wasn't one of a novice she really couldn't expect herself to have gotten through a wave of bots sorely based on simulation training. Sadly Anna wouldn't decide whether or not she was happy she made it through -- because one less adversary meant another day surviving. "Roger that," Retorted the woman, monotone.

Slipping on the last piece of her field armor -- worn, sturdy boots -- the brunette tugged back her ash blonde hair and pulled it through her hat, which had a pair of unique goggles resting on the top, a bit heavy, glossy, and wired within the frames. Her eyes speckled gold flickered around between the individuals, all risen, equipped to varyious degrees, not the kind of squad she was used to, but she couldn't deny in her situation it was only wise to be within a group. "Johanna," She declared to everyone with a straight face, deciding to be the first to get names over with. Tucking her gun into it's secured holster a little behind her hip, she made her way over to the bots, leaning down and attempting to disassemble one of the Gutsy's, careful to stay out of the doorway. "How disheartening," Johanna hadn't found much, a bit of fuel she'd never need, fried batteries, very little to fill her plasma. With a dry, somewhat defeated chuckle, she offered, "Anyone need flamer fuel?"​

Katelyn had been sitting at the edge of the group, watching the man who had taken charge with a mixture of curiosity and slight suspicion, her fists whitening as she gripped her baseball bat when the bots had entered the room. Beads of sweat had appeared on her brow as she watched the men and women with plasma guns shoot the brain bots and occasional Mr. Gustys. She tried to throw what she could find, but her contribution paled in comparison to those with the real weapons. The way that everyone moved and fought together made her feel very, very small. Sure, she had made it this far with just her wit and her bat, but watching the herd of bots storm into the small room ate up what pride she had left. It had been ages since Katelyn had been in awe of another living thing, since it had been so long since she had interacted with anything lacking wires and buttons. As she crouched in the back of the group, her hair falling in pieces onto her face, her teeth grinding the inside of her cheek until she recognized the familiar taste of iron, Katelyn began to seriously think what she had to offer, and how much she had missed human interaction.

"No, thanks," she said to the woman who had asked, letting a small smile flicker onto her face before it was gone again, like a faulty lightbulb lighting up a dark room.

Brows furrowed, Tess' gaze shifted to the rugged man who darted straight to the door, a revolver in one hand and a jangling lunchbox in the other. The man urged the group to hold their fire and Tess did just that, albeit reluctantly. Squinted deep brown eyes cutting back to the door, she held her breath. Her quickening pulse throbbed in her ears. It seemed an eternity between each bang on the door, and with each sound of metal screeching, Tess found her still-numbed index finger twitch on the trigger; anxiety throttled her throat. Tess ground her teeth as the door flew clean off.

"FIRE!"

Holes were quick to riddle the bots as the group released their shots, and after a few minutes of the group trying to save their own skins, the last bot fell. Releasing a breath, Tess rose. "Let's hope there's no more of 'em," she muttered beneath her breath, more to herself than anyone.

"Get dressed, stick together, follow my lead, and we might survive."

Making her way to the messy heap of her supplies, Tess hurried to switch into her gear; leather armor dressed over fatigues, a pair of combat boots, and a modest black hip satchel. She clutched her assault gas mask beneath her arm. Tucking a stray lock of shoulder-length black hair behind her ear, she stole a glance back at the man, spending a moment in thought before turning to approach. "Wait, hold on," Tess chimed in. She slid her laser rifle in its holster on her back, then raised her hand to gesture toward... wherever they were. "What's going on here? And what the hell is this place?"

Bax's attention snapped to the woman, visibly frustrated. He peered around the room as if looking for something, after giving himself the all clear.

"This is an Enclave base, they're- they were the remnants of the old world's government. I thought the vault dweller's kid wiped 'em out almost eighty years ago. I had hoped that were the case, at least. As for what's going on, no clue, but I know the Enclave and those bots were the least we have to worry about."

A low, breathy growl came from somewhere outside the room, like an echo from far away. Bax's eyes widened further, he picked up one of the stray rolling tables and tossed it through the glass that separated their room and the next. He leaped through the newly made hole and spun around.

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